


Baker Street Bees and Other Stories

by Zanganito



Category: Batman: Gotham by Gaslight (2018), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 221B Baker Street, 221B Ficlet, Baking, Christmas, Christmas Party, Crimes & Criminals, Crossover, Drabble, Friendship, Gen, POV First Person, POV John Watson, POV Third Person, Sherlock Holmes and Bees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 7,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanganito/pseuds/Zanganito
Summary: A collection of prompt based stories written for the December Challenge by Hades Lord of the Dead.
Kudos: 5





	1. Baker Street Bees: Pumpkin

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 - 'Pumpkin' from Winter Winks 221

It all started at the edge of a field. A pumpkin field with the dark green vines snaking their tendrils up stalks of corn. A field where only several weeks ago, the body of a young field hand had been buried. Naturally, the old couple who owned the farm had been accused of murder first. But Herbert was an old acquaintance of Dr. Watson’s, and he and Sherlock has found the real killer within a week.

There were a dozen bee hives lined up on the far corner of the field, and the bees hummed happily, rolling into yellow pumpkin flowers to emerge covered with powdery pollen. Sherlock watched them intently. It was strange how vigorously life always continued on in the wake of grotesque death.

“You fancy bees, Mr. Holmes?” It was half question, half statement, paired with an edge of hopefulness as Mathilde raised her chin to look up at him.

“I do,” Sherlock replied.

“Take some with you then.”

Sherlock coughed and grimaced, almost a laugh at the thought of hauling an entire hive up the steps of 221 B. “I daresay my landlady wouldn’t approve.”

“We’ll make you one of those small hives with the windows in it then, won’t you Herbert?” Mathilde said while elbowing Herbert in the side. “An observation hive. You can keep them in the city even. There’s only a handful of bees in those little hives.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to decline. There numerous reasons this wouldn’t work. Lack of forage for one. The bees were clearly meant to live out here.

But…

But maybe he could allow it, for a short period of time, just for observation and studies, to fill those long expanses of time between cases. 

He smiled down at Mathilde. “An observation hive sounds lovely.”

\--

Several months later there was a delivery. Plump round pumpkins from the farm, all orange with prickly stems, that he intended to gift to Mrs. Hudson, and a tall heavy package wrapped in brown paper that hummed steadily of the end of summer.


	2. Baker Street Bees: Watson Gets the Credit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 - 'Watson gets the credit' from sirensbane

It was autumn, and the crisp air was turning colder by the day as I arrived on Baker Street that afternoon, thick wool coat folded under my arm. I had scarcely begun ascending the stairs when Mrs. Hudson stopped me short with a cry.  
“Dr. Watson,” said she, emerging from her kitchen in a flurry of aprons, flour from her baking speckling her wrists. “Thank goodness you’ve arrived. Mr. Holmes received a package this morning, and he’s been going on about the bees ever since.” The good lady paused, wringing her hands. “I fear he may set them all loose upstairs.”

“Mrs. Hudson,” I replied, giving her a sympathetic smile. “I will investigate this matter, and I am certain Holmes does not intend to set bees loose in the building.”  
.  
.

I entered the room some moments later to see the great detective himself sat on the edge of one armchair, and intently staring at a large wooden frame that rested on the table near the window. The wood was a rich mahogany colour, and instead of a painting, the frame housed a pane of glass on either side, and in the very center, an innumerable mass of bees ran back and forth across an expanse of comb.

“Ah, Watson, you’ve arrived,” said Holmes. There was a glint of excitement in his eyes, that normally accompanied a case, as he stood and turned towards me.

“Holmes, you can’t intend to keep these bees inside?” I asked, stepping as near as I dared to the writhing mass of insects.  
The buzzing seemed to change in timbre as I approached, perhaps the insects saw me as an outsider, but were comfortable with Holmes, just as a dog might recognize a beloved master. Or perhaps they innately knew of my fears, just as sparrows tend to instinctively know which man harbors them good will instead of ill intentions.

“Why of course, Watson,” said Holmes, resting one hand along the top of the wooden frame that divided the two panes of glass, clearly completely at ease with his proximity to the bees. “One would normally keep an observation hive indoors, in order to observe it at leisure.” A smile flitted over his features as he said this, perhaps feeling some amusement at my obvious discomfort. 

I sputtered indignantly. “You can’t mean to keep them trapped indoors, Holmes! Will they not escape into the room eventually?”

“Heavens, no, Watson,” he replied. He gestured at a length of tubing that I had failed to note previously. “They will have an entrance through the window, which will allow the bees to fly freely outdoors, while their hive is securely housed indoors.” And indeed, the tubing stretched to the window, which was open a crack to allow the tubing to extend outdoors.

“And will the bees not harass passerbys on the street?” I asked, peering down at the cobblestones.

“The bees are quite docile,” Holmes said, picking up his pipe. “And the elevation from the window ensures that their flight is already far above the street, further protecting them from accidentally colliding with Baker Street denizens below.”

I huffed in defeat and sank into the far armchair.

“But don’t worry, Watson, this is all your doing you know,” he said with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

“How so?” I asked with trepidation.

“Why you were the one who suggested taking the case that cleared Mr Herbert William,” Holmes said as he leaned back in his armchair and brought the pipe to his lips. “And you also implied that Mr. and Mrs William would be distraught if I refused their gifts. I must say, it was an excellent suggestion, Watson.”

It was then that the case of several months ago came to the forefront of my mind. The gory corpse in a field, Mathilde and Herbert’s gratitude, and most importantly, a buzzing of bees in the background. I leaned forward and let out a low groan, hoping fervently, that Mr. Williams had used very thick glass in his construction of the hive.


	3. Baker Street Bees: Fluffy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - 'fluffy' from sirensbane

The young bee skittered across the floor, through a pile of flour, and left small dusty tracks along the wood.

“Sherlock, your bees are escaping again,” Mrs Hudson called. She hesitated for a moment, then scooped the tiny insect into her hand, just like Holmes had showed her. The bee hummed contentedly in her hand. It was covered in flour, but still so incredibly fluffy.


	4. Baker Street Bees: Pipe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 - From Book girl fan: A pipe is the answer to everything.

Sherlock leaned back in his armchair, pipe dangling from his lips as he watched the bees crawl on the glass panes of the observation hive carefully. “They are escaping from the bottom left corner, Watson,” he said after a long pause. Smoke lazily trailed from the end of his pipe.

“Are you certain?” I asked, leaning as near as I dared to the humming hive of potential escapees, which was closer than I would have dared a week ago. After one week of occasionally picking up stray bees scattered across the room, listening to Holmes logical explanations, and not being stung, I had come to the conclusion that the bees bore me no ill will. At least not when Holmes was around. I peered at the hive where Holmes had indicated, seeing nothing that stood out aside from the multitude of bees that clinked hundreds of tiny feet against the glass. “I can’t see any hole or opening.”

“Ah Watson, but you do not think like a bee,” said Holmes, smiling to show his remark was at least part in jest. “There is a small imperfection in the wood in that corner,” he continued, “and it allows a minute gap, barely large enough that a worker bee will occasionally find it and pass through.”

Thus explaining his findings, Holmes stood up, pipe in hand. He bent over near the aforementioned gap, and blew a few generous puffs of smoke inside, which the bees di not appreciate, as evidenced by the increase in volume of their humming, and scattered fleeing in a direction opposite the smoke. “It reminds them of fire, Watson,” he said, indicating the agitated bees. “However, a small amount of smoke won’t harm them, and will keep them out of mischief while I patch their home.” Saying this, Holmes tore a small sliver of paper from one of my manuscripts, and folded it over many times, then inserted it at one side of the glass. “That will hold them for a short while, I’ll make up a plaster later for a more permanent fix.”

His work finished for the day, Holmes settled back into his armchair and placed his pipe in the side of his mouth. “I daresay Mrs. Hudson will be pleased when no more bees appear in her kitchen.”


	5. Baker Street Bees: Nudity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 - From Hades Lord of the Dead: Nudity.

I entered the room at 221 B Baker Street one chilly morning to find Holmes with one of the glass panes removed, pipe puffing merrily on the side table, and bare hands completely covered in crawling bees.

“Holmes, what are you doing?” I cried.

“Ah, Watson, you’ve arrived just in time,” Holmes said as a glint of excitement crossed his sharp features. “I am replacing one of the frames, so the bees will have enough to eat now that it’s colder. Your friend, Mr William stopped by earlier to drop off a frame of honey, you just missed him.”

“But will they not all abscond with the glass opened?” I inquired, envisioning poor Mrs. Hudson now having to contend with nearly a whole entire hive of bees in her kitchen. 

“No, Watson,” he answered, picking up his pipe carefully, so as not to annoy any of the multitude of bees crawling on his fingers. “Most will stay on their frames, the rest will be drawn to the window provided we keep the lamps unlit, and we can pick them up and return them to their hive afterwards.”

“But Holmes,” I protested, thinking that he no doubt overestimated my growing familiarity with the bees. I had since grown accustomed to their low humming while working on a case with Holmes in the room, but I was quite content to keep a pane of glass between ourselves! “And without gloves? Will they not sting?”

“They will only sting if frightened, Watson,” he admonished, giving the frame a final adjustment until it met his satisfaction. “And I find it easier to manipulate pieces of the hive without gloves at times,” he continued, beginning to puff smoke from a distance to the hive, that caused most of the straying bees to turn and run back towards the hive.

“I think I will opt for gloves,” I said, as my friend slid the glass back into place, and turned towards the window, where some twenty or thirty bees bobbed up and down, attempting to fly through the glass.

“Ah Watson,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “You are fortunate I am content to beekeep with bare hands. There are some who keep bees in the nude, since it eliminates the possibility of the bees becoming stuck under one’s clothing.”

I sputtered in surprise. I am grateful that my friend’s approach to keeping bees is not so dramatic. Still, it took the remainder of the day to locate all of Holmes’ bees.


	6. Baker Street Bees: Impossible to Find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Winter Winks 221: Impossible to Find  
> A/N: I couldn’t resist continuing from the previous prompt, but I also had a ‘finding the queen’ short story planned for this one, so I included both!

  
“You see, Watson,” Holmes said, lifting a bee from the window carefully between thumb and index finger. “If you hold the bee gently by both wings, she is unable to curl her abdomen around far enough to sting.”

I watched dubiously as Holmes carried the bee from the window to the hive, removing the plug at the top just long enough to pass the bee through. The remaining bees bumped against the window, buzzing their agitation. I stepped close enough to peer at one’s wings as it half crawled, half flew up the glass. “But Holmes, how is one to pick them up by the wings when they move so fast?” Clearly my friend was not only blessed with powers of detecting beyond mere mortals, but also powers of beekeeping that surpassed the common person.

He turned back with a small exhale of air, reminded that not all of humanity possessed his acute skills no doubt. “I can show you if you like, Watson, but perhaps it would be more efficient if you checked the rest of the room for bees while I finish with the window.”

That suggestion was indeed much more to my liking, and I searched the room while Holmes made quick work of the bees. When we had both finished, we met in the center of the room. “I don’t see any more,” I said, “And as long as that buzzing noise is only from the hive, I think we might have finished.”

Holmes cocked his head to one side for a moment. “Watson,” he said gravely, shaking his head, “Not all of the noise is from the hive. I fear a number of bees might have gotten lost and fallen among the armchair and rug and become entangled in the fabric fibers.” He carefully searched along the edge of the rug until he found one. “It’s as I feared,” he said, crouching down to examine the bee. “Watson, fetch me Mrs Hudson’s sewing scissors, I think those will serve for freeing the bees.”

It was indeed a long evening’s work.

  
…

Later that evening, when we had cleared all the bees from the room and returned them to their hive, Mrs Hudson brought up a steaming kettle of tea, and joined us for a few moments in contemplating the bees. They ran back and forth along the glass pane of the hive as always and seemed happy with their new frame of honey.

“Which one’s the queen?” the good lady asked.

“An excellent question,” Holmes said, stepping closer to the hive with a gleam in his eye that promised a longer than necessary lecture. “The queen lays all the eggs, therefore you can often find her near where the bees keep their brood,” he said, indicating the area of comb where the bees fed a few white grub-shaped larvae. “They don’t have as much now, on account of the cold, but you can recognize her by her shape – the queen has a much longer abdomen. You can also hear her call out on occasion, when she wishes one of the workers to feed her.”

“Ah, there she is!” Holmes cried after a few moments of searching the comb. “It is simple, really,” he continued, “nothing aside from pattern recognition. One eliminates all the bees in one’s mind that she cannot be, and is therefore left with only the queen.”

But try as we might, Mrs Hudson and I couldn’t replicate Holmes’ method. The queen was impossible to find.


	7. Tree Trimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 - From SheWhoScrawls: Tree trimming
> 
> A/N: 100 word drabble

The sharp sappy scent of pine filled the room. Jagged needles littered the floor. Glass shards shaped like icicles hung from green branches. Metal glinted a wicked sharp gleam from the man’s side, and thick red sluggish blood leaked slowly from a wound to join the crimson pool on the stained floor. Several hours had passed, Holmes said, bending over the prone figure for a closer look. Several hours later, and the murderer’s pipe was still burning, a small amount of acrid smoke rising from under the tree. The murdered man’s hands were free of stain, he had never smoked.


	8. Baker Street Bees: Watson Gets Political

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 - From Hades Lord of the Dead: Watson gets political.  
> A/N: 221B ficlet

It was late when we returned to Baker’s Street, the lamps were already lit, spreading a dull golden glow on the cobblestones. My companion was silent, reflecting perhaps on the conclusion of our latest case. There was a chill to the air, but not yet enough that the light rain would turn to snow.

“Ah Watson,” Holmes said at last. “It’s always a pity when one is murdered. More so when it’s for money.”

“It’s the root of all evil,” I agreed. “And yet a man would certainly feel its absence within a few hours, most especially at mealtime.”

“Quite right, Watson,” Holmes said, clapping me heartily on the shoulder.  
.

We entered the darkened flat and Holmes lit a lamp, his face looked drawn and tired, but he was not so exhausted as to leave the room without a fond glance at his bees. I joined him, staring through the glass pane as tiny velvety bodies scurried past one another, each intent on their own chore. One worker extended its proboscis to another, an action Holmes had taught me meant that one was feeding the other.

“If only humans could learn to share as freely as they do,” I mused.

“Indeed, Watson,” Holmes said, and a smile quirked at his lip. “There is much one can learn from the bees.”


	9. Baker Street Bees:  Winter Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 - From Book girl fan: A winter wedding.  
> A/N: 221B ficlet

Soft snowflakes fell lightly outside, enough to coat the edges of buildings and railings like gingerbread houses, and paint intricate lacy designs on the outsides of windows.

A lacy pattern that was emulated on a carefully cut folded paper, filled with delicately looped words.

“You’re attending a wedding, Holmes?” Watson asked, surprise seeping in his voice as he picked up the invitation from the table. 

“Clearly, Watson,” Holmes said, turning in his armchair. “Mathilde stopped by earlier to drop off the invitations, there’s one for you and Mary as well. Her youngest daughter is getting married, and is an avid reader of your embellishments of my cases.”

“Ah, I see,” Watson said, with a glance to the observation hive, where the bees still sat, clustering together for warmth. “Did she say anything about the bees?”

Holmes removed his pipe from his mouth, and let it sit in his hand. “She said ‘the girls’ seemed happy here, and that we must all have an aptitude for beekeeping.”

“Some more so than others,” Watson responded with a chuckle.

“You and Mrs Hudson will learn, Watson,” Holmes said, features softening into a small smile. “Mrs William also said that the back courtyard would be the perfect place for expanding the observation hive into a regular sized hive come spring.”

Watson sputtered. “Even more bees?”


	10. Sword Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 - From Ennui Enigma: use the words: sword fight, crazy, and donkey in a short story
> 
> A/N: 100 word drabble

“This is crazy,” Watson complained as he clung to the donkey’s back for dear life as it climbed the steep winding trail up the side of the mountain. The wind gusted over them, causing Watson to lean as near as he dared to the sharp rocks and foliage that edged one side of the trail. On the other side was a steep cliff. Pebbles scattered under the donkey’s hoofs. 

“On the contrary, Watson,” Sherlock shouted from ahead, his voice carrying clearly over the wind, “this Monastery is the only place in the world to learn a rare sword fighting technique.”


	11. Another City (Batman: Gotham by Gaslight Crossover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 - From Hades Lord of the Dead: What if Sherlock Holmes was based somewhere other than London?  
> A/N: 221B ficlet

.  
Gotham, 1885

.

It was late when Sister Leslie summoned me with urgency. The shadows had lengthened into darkness, interrupted only by the glow of streetlamps being lit. I hastily packed my bag, left a quick note for Holmes with the details of my whereabouts, and headed into the night. 

“I apologize for disturbing you doctor,” Sister Leslie said, wringing her hands as she greeted me at the gates of the Church, “but Mr Wayne has had a terrible injury, and refuses a hospital.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” I replied, setting down my bag and removing my coat. “I was fortunate enough to make the journey here without incident.” And truth be told, I was curious as to the nature of the injury of a man Holmes had offhandedly mentioned as one of his former protegees. 

Bruce Wayne was a giant of a man, his large forearms and bruised knuckles were testament to the time he spent training in the fighting arts. He was reclined on a sofa, holding a bloodied rag to one leg. For him to receive such a grave injury, his opponent must have been a fearsome man indeed! Or perhaps, extremely lucky or numerous, as Holmes might have pointed out.

“Bring me a pan of hot water and more towels,” I instructed the Sister as I opened my bag.


	12. Not a Doctor (Batman: Gotham by Gaslight Crossover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 - From Stutley Constable: What do you mean, I am not a doctor?  
> A/N: 221B ficlet, and a continuation of the previous prompt.

“You’re not a doctor.” 

I turned to see a small child dressed in well-worn clothing frowning up at me. “What do you mean, I am not a doctor?” I asked, amused.

“It’s not your real job. You write those mystery stories, with Sherlock Holmes,” he insisted, “With all the little details on how he catches the criminals.”

Sister Leslie returned with the bowl of hot water and towels. “Jason, stop pestering Dr Watson, isn’t it past your bedtime?” she asked, giving him a stern frown that would likely have sent a less stubborn child running for bed.

Jason pouted the pout of a young child hoping to see blood and gore. “I could help you with the stiches. Ba- Bruce is going to need a lot of them.” He looked pleased with the idea of lots of stitches. 

I chuckled indulgently. “As long as Sister Leslie permits it, perhaps I could take you on as an assistant.”

“Really?” Jason asked, awestruck. 

Sister Leslie glanced up from where she had begun to clean the wound. “Very well, but be sure you mind Dr Watson, young man.”

I handed Jason a pair of surgical scissors. “It’ll be your job to cut each stitch after I tie it.” Then I took a curved needle from my bag, threaded with catgut, and turned towards Bruce.


	13. Baker Street Bees:  Mrs Hudson Saves the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 From Ennui Enigma: Mrs Hudson bakes something that saves the day

It was one of the murky days in between spring and winter. The skies were gray and indecisive, overcast with clouds not certain whether to continue the snow, or let lose the first rains of spring. The snow had melted onto the cobblestones, and the weather turned warm enough to entice the bees to fly from their home during the day, and cold enough at night to refreeze the melted slush on the ground. A few brave plants opened fragile blossoms when it warmed for days, only to crumple up when the frost returned at night.

It was, Holmes had solemnly informed Mrs Hudson, a dangerous time for the bees. For if they expended too much energy searching for nectar amoung frost-bitten plants, and unopened buds, they would rapidly use up their honey stores. In a matter of weeks, they would likely have an excess of food, and be searching for more space to store the fragrant nectar. But now, in this dearth period, they faced a very real possibility of starvation.

Mrs Hudson had begrudging given up the icing she’d intended to use for her cake, saying only she “Couldn’t bear the idea of the poor creatures starving.”

“Many thanks, Mrs Hudson,” Holmes cried as he rushed back up the stairway. “You’ve just saved the day - for the bees.”


	14. Murder by Violin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 - From Winter Winks 221: Murder by Violin  
> A/N: Another 221B

  
It was a grotesque murder scene, intentionally so, almost as if it had been set up to be eye-catching as well as repulsive. Dark blood stood out vividly against the white marble floor. A violin had been smashed to bits against one of the chairs, then dismantled. Each of the strings were removed, then tied in order on the victim’s arm, so tight that blood had seeped through a few cuts. The bow was stabbed with considerable force into the luckless man’s heart. Lestrade identified him as Danny Smith, who had recently begun playing for the orchestra. 

“Someone objected very much to his violin.” Holmes paused and examined how the strings had been tied. “Though I think it likely that it was his performance that the murderer objected most to,” Holmes said gravely, a dark shadow passing over his features. 

“Lord help us all if a man murders for such a slight offense!” Lestrade exclaimed.

“And make him exceptionally difficult to find until he strikes again.” Holmes looked pensive. “And yet, perhaps-”

“Holmes, surely you aren’t considering-”

“Yes, Watson,” he continued, “obviously one method to solve the case is to set up a performance myself. I must then play the violin so terribly, that the murderer will have no choice but to be drawn out by the sound of my bow.”


	15. Baker Street Bees: Irresistible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 - From BookRookie12: Irresistible
> 
> 100 word drabble

It was early spring when the last of the icicles finished melting and softly dripping off branches. Small green leaves emerged on the tips of each branch, followed closely by delicate pink and white flowers, filling Regents Park. Holmes noticed an immediate change in the observation hive. More of the workers were gone during the day, returning heavily laden with sweet scented pollen hanging from their hind legs, and they filled the comb with tiny packs of pollen. The conclusion was obvious: the first flowers of the year were blooming in Regents Park, and to the bees they were irresistible. 


	16. Trade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 - From W. Y. Traveller: Holmes and Watson trade occupations for a day.
> 
> 221B ficlet

Mrs Graves curled her stiffened fingers around her warm cup of tea. “The pills Dr Watson gave me helped with the pain in my hands at first, but it just keeps worsening.”  
Holmes steepled his fingers together in front of him and leaned forward in his chair. “Have you considered bee sting therapy?” 

“Bees? Stinging?” She sputtered in shock and nearly rose from her chair, before settling down again. “How many days did you say you were filling in for Dr Watson?”

“The ancient Egyptians may have first domesticated bees for the medicinal value of their stings, not their honey,” Holmes continued, ignoring her outburst. “It should be possible to find a beekeeper who is willing to administer the therapy. For a small fee.” 

“I see,” she said as she stood to leave. “Well, it was lovely meeting you, Mr Holmes. Give Dr Watson my regards.” Then she hurried out of the office.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair to light his pipe. He had finished in a fraction of the time that Watson usually attended to his patients, leaving him time to join the doctor and Lestrade at Scotland Yard, where they were likely still working on the gruesome case that required Watson’s expertise. He found them later, Watson’s frown informing him they had not yet uncovered all the bodies.


	17. Ice Skates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 - From KnightFury: Ice skates  
> 100 word drabble

Light glinted off the edges of the sharp blades as they cut through the ice, scratching out trails as Holmes skated gracefully past, circled, and returned. Watson clung to an ice-covered sapling at the edge of the pond, and that was plenty excitement today for him and his leg.

  
“I appreciate your dedication, Watson,” Holmes said with a hint of a smile on his lips as he finished another pass.

  
Watson grumbled unrepeatable words under his breath, but resumed watching Holmes and others skate past.

  
Holmes was certain the killer would make another appearance, at a skating pond this time.


	18. Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 - From cjnwriter: Holmes attempts to evade mistletoe at a party

Holmes did not often attend the end of the year celebrations, but after pointing out that Lestrade would be attending this particular party as well, and that money raised would be going to charity, and Mrs. Hudson’s cakes would be among the featured desserts, he had agreed that one night of socialization would make an acceptable break between cases, assuming that a need to investigate didn’t suddenly manifest. Fortunately, even crime seemed to be taking a break to enjoy the festivities this year, and Holmes arrived at the party in time to congratulate Mrs. Hudson on winning best dessert.  
As the night wore on, Holmes appeared to be enjoying himself, energetically walking around the tables filled with food, and peering up into the rafters. Though, on closer examination, his extreme interest seemed to be infused with a touch of agitation.

“Watson,” Holmes said gravely while approaching me, his brows furrowed in consternation, “there seem to be an excessive use of mistletoe as a decoration at this party. I have counted over fifteen sprigs of the parasitic plant hanging from the ceiling just in this very room, and there are more than twenty more lining the hallway.”

I nearly choked on my drink and sputtered. “Um, well, you know, the ladies do enjoy their decorating. I think Mary and Mrs. Hudson have outdone themselves this year.”

“And did they know I would be attending?”

“Ah..um” I replied while turning a darker shade of red.

Holmes nearly broke into one of his rare laughs. “Ah, so you are in on this too, Watson!” he exclaimed. “No matter, I am certain the trees appreciated having a few more parasitic plants removed this year,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

Holmes spent the remainder of the evening enjoying Mrs. Hudson’s pies, and avoiding every sprig of mistletoe. In fact, I think he may have made a game of seeing how close he could approach each one without ending up underneath, much to the disappointment of quite a number of ladies at the party. 


	19. The Irregulars (Batman: Gotham by Gaslight crossover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19 - From KnightFury: Entertaining the Irregulars.
> 
> Another Gotham by Gaslight crossover. Hopefully it’s enjoyable.

There was a thump from just outside the door, of a projectile hitting the side of the building and just narrowly avoiding one of the windows. Perhaps, allowing Bruce Wayne’s children and the irregulars to play together was a dangerous idea.

Mrs Hudson’s lips thinned, and curved down almost to a frown. “Boys,” she yelled through the window, “please try not to get glass in my kitchen.”

There was a chorus of contrite assurances from outside that they would be more careful.

“See that you do, if you boys want pie in an hour,” Mrs. Hudson shouted after the children. There were sounds of laughter and scuffling from outside that gradually faded away as the boys moved a safer distance away, the cause destruction somewhere else, rather than Mrs Hudson’s kitchen.

“Ah, I think they’re playing baseball,” Bruce said, giving a sheepish grin. “I’ve been teaching Dick and Jason how to play. Tim must have joined them too,” he added after noting that the youngest child was no longer underfoot.

“Well, fresh air and exercise is good for the children,” I said, sitting back down at the table to continue going over the case notes with Wayne and Holmes.

  
..  
Tim had not been outside playing with the others, a fact that became obvious when all of the irregulars tracked muddy footprints into Mrs Hudson’s kitchen in search of pie. (Pie that would be kept out of reach until after all the muddy footprints were scrubbed from her floor.)  
After a quick search through the house, we found that Tim in fact had been spending all morning practicing with Holmes’ chemistry set, and was in the process of titrating a purplish liquid in one of Holmes’ flasks.

Holmes looked surprised for a few seconds, then gave a lopsided smile. “Ah well. Learning at such a young age is a noble endeavor. Just make certain you take all necessary precautions,” he directed Wayne’s youngest.

Tim nodded solemnly, then turned his attention back to the flask.

  
“At least he hasn’t caused an explosion yet,” I remarked, with a pointed glance at Holmes.

  
“Only because he has just begun to learn, Doctor,” Holmes replied.

  
..  
Later, when all of Wayne’s children had at last fallen asleep (or so we believed), I collapsed into my armchair, and reached for my papers, hoping to write for the remainder of the evening. As I sorted through the pages, I noticed a number of them were missing. There was the sound of paper crinkling from across the room, and I leapt out of my chair and rushed over to peer behind the sofa.Jason, Wayne’s middle child was apparently still awake, and surrounded by a sea of my papers that he appeared to be studying.

“My dear boy, what are you doing with my story notes?” I cried.

  
“Learning to write like you do, Dr Watson,” the young urchin replied. “One day I’m going to write mystery stories too, but about Batman.”


	20. Turn of the Century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 - From Domina Temporis: The turn of the century  
> 100 word drabble

Watson poked at the fire, adding another log. “Turn of the century tonight,” he remarked. “That doesn’t come often.”

“It always seems strange,” Holmes said, “to start a new year with everything still dead. The passing of days and centuries hardly matters to anyone but mankind.” He puffed sedately on his pipe. “Tomorrow will be a day just like today.”

“Seems a shame there isn’t a way to mark it.” Watson straightened up and returned to his chair.

“We can always go to the Exposition in France this year,” Holmes said. “All the wonders of the future in one place.” 


	21. Baker Street Bees:  Wintry Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day .21 - From W. Y. Traveller: Wintry morning  
> 100 word drabble

It was extra chilly this morning as Holmes climbed from his bed and walked along the freezing floorboards. The stove seemed to take longer than usual to light, protesting the cold. Frost had stenciled intricate lacy white designs on the windowpane, and the cold seeped in along the edges. The bees were slower this morning huddled together for warmth. Holmes added another log to the fire, and placed a towel along one of the larger gaps by the window. He was seated by the window when Watson arrived a few hours later, sedately drinking his tea and watching the bees.


	22. Baker Street Bees: Chimney Soot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 - From Wordwielder: Chimney soot

I arrived at 221B Baker Street one chilly winter morning to find Holmes kneeling by the fireplace, intently watching its edge. The fire had long since died down, yet my friend had yet to relight the kindling.

I shivered at the cold that was starting to permeate the room, and rubbed my elbows. “Have we run out of matches, Holmes?” I enquired. 

Holmes didn’t move from his place in front of the fire. “A brush, Watson, bring me a brush. A paint brush,” he added. “One of the fine bristled artist types will do.”

I was now even more perplexed as to what my friend was so absorbed in, but I rushed to comply with his request. Holmes often explained the obvious after he had finished. I hurried to find the required brush, finding one on a shelf near his chemistry experiments.

“Thank you, Watson,” Holmes said as he took the brush from my hands. He carefully picked up a small struggling speck from near the fireplace, and proceeded to brush at it carefully.

I leaned over to get a close look. It was a bee, covered in soot, and buzzing lowly as Holmes brushed the black dust from its body. “They escaped again?” I asked.

Holmes nodded. “A small number of the bees escaped into the room when I fed them last night. As you can see, they were drawn to the warmth of the fireplace overnight. Fortunately, the fire had since died down, and they ended up dirty instead of singed.” 

I glanced around the fireplace to note that there were indeed a handful more bees, struggling in the soot, and leaving tiny dirty footprints along the edge of the fireplace.


	23. Handshake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 - From W. Y. Traveller: Handshake  
> 100 word drabble

It was late one night, and the fire was dying down to a warm, comfortable glow while I perused my case notes and Holmes sedately smoked his pipe.

“And you knew he was lying about his profession from a simple handshake?” I asked, amazed.

“Yes Watson,” Holmes replied, a smile playing about his lips. “Agricultural workers get very distinctive callouses on their hands. I noticed at once that Mr Whitmore’s hands were smooth, realized that he had signed on recently, possibly secretly hired to murder. After that, it was a simple matter of paying close attention to all his actions.”


	24. Baker Street Bees:  Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 - From SheWhoScrawls: Christmas Eve in Baker Street  
> 221B ficlet

It was Christmas Eve on Baker Street, and the smell of Mrs Hudson’s pies permeated the air. There was the sweet smell of apple and cinnamon, contrasted with the savory smell of steak and onion. It would undoubtably be a memorable meal.

The sounds of Holmes playing his violin filled the flat with soulful, cheerful tones. The bees were active even today, huddling together for warmth, a few breaking from the cluster every now and then to scurry about the hive, perhaps even looking out the window while the thick snow fell outside. No doubt it was a much different view from what they were accustomed to in the outdoors.

I was reclined in an armchair by the fire, and leisurely cutting minute shapes out of decorative paper. I had stars and snowflakes for the window, bells and candles by the fireplace. On a whim, I cut a few more - a tiny Christmas tree, a miniature fireplace, a few stars, and a reindeer, and then placed the miniature decorations all alongside the glass of the observation hive. I stood back to admire my work. Now the bees had a very festive view indeed.

Holmes glanced over, and his lips quirked up in approval. “Well done Watson,” Holmes remarked. “I see Christmas Eve is to be celebrated even by the bees.”


	25. Presents and Cards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 - From KnightFury: Presents and cards.  
> 221B ficlet

Holmes was not unaccustomed to receiving cards and gifts, especially after finishing a particularly notable case. Still, it was with a slightly bemused expression that he picked up a small parcel wrapped in brown paper that had been leaning against the doorstep at Baker Street. It was a cold and windy day, with snow crusted against edges of buildings. “Strange,” Holmes murmured, brushing snow from the parcel “and unexpected.”

I could hardly contain my curiosity, glancing over at the parcel as we entered. It was thin, perhaps the size of a small book. “What do you suppose is inside?” I asked as we removed our coats and stomped the snow from our boots.

A mischievous smile played about Holmes face. “I haven’t the slightest idea, Watson,” he said. “But I think some hot tea is in order first after traipsing about in the cold all day.”

It was uncharacteristic indeed for Holmes to brush aside a mystery in favor of sustenance, and I wonder if he had decided to playfully postpone opening the package after noting my extreme interest in it.

Much later, when we were both sipping tea, that Holmes finally picked up the package, and carefully unfolded the brown paper.

“Well, what is it?” I asked, leaning forward.

Holmes held up a thin yellow booklet. “A Journal on Beekeeping.”


	26. Irene Adler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 - From Book girl fan: What does Irene Adler do for Christmas?  
> 221B ficlet

It was an ostentatious Christmas Ball. Ribbon and wreaths decorated the staircases framing the large ballroom, candles lined the walls, and an enormous Christmas tree took up the center of the room.

Tables were loaded with every food imaginable, from roast duck to sweetbreads, and I looked longingly at a few of the dishes, while Holmes and I stood unobtrusively on the edge of the crowd. Unfortunately, we were not here to partake in the festivities, just observe.

As we stood watching couples twirl by on the dance floor, I heard a sharp intake of breath from Holmes, then scanned the crowd to see what had caught his eye. It took me longer than I am willing to admit to find her, though in my defense she had dyed her hair in disguise. She was dressed in furs and pearls and red lipstick, perhaps outwardly different from how we had last seen her, but her smile and sharp cunning gaze was unmistakably Irene Adler.

Holmes stood frozen as she approached. I took from his surprise, that he had not expected her to be in attendance. Otherwise, we doubtless would have taken greater care with disguise.

“Why Mr Holmes,” Irene said feigning surprise. “Fancy meeting you here. Would you care for a dance? After all, why else would one attend a ball?”


	27. Chocolate Cake (Batman: Gotham by Gaslight Crossover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27 - From Winter Winks 221: Chocolate cake  
> 100 word drabble  
> Alfred and Mrs Hudson combine their talents. :)

A delicious scent of chocolate permeated the air, and Mrs Hudson’s oven warmed the building as cakes rose, and children tiptoed past to catch a glimpse of the decadent dessert.   
While Bruce Wayne and his family were visiting Baker Street, Alfred had offered to share his triple chocolate cake recipe. And Mrs Hudson had responded by sharing her own family recipe for chocolate cake. They took turns, trying each recipe and comparing the results with a scientific rigor that would make Holmes proud.

And as for the rest of us, we certainly weren’t complaining with an abundance of chocolate cake!


	28. Pub Ordeal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 - From W. Y. Traveller: Pub ordeal  
> 221B ficlet

The lighting was dim, the air thick with smoke, and the table I joined Holmes at was sticky with the residue of an unknown substance.

  
“Splendid of you to join me, Doctor,” Holmes said, standing up to greet me, and surreptitiously using the opportunity to glance over at a couple sitting three tables away.

  
I sighed. “What are you working on now, Holmes?” I asked with resignation. 

  
“I’ll explain later,” he said, gesturing to a chair. “Here, sit, relax. Have a beer, Watson,” he said, sliding me a drink across the table. 

  
I picked the glass up gingerly, shuddered at the tiny particles floating in the liquid, and took a small sip. It wasn’t bad as I feared, but it did have an unfortunate aftertaste. “What now?” I asked my companion. 

  
Holmes’ eyes glittered with animation. “Now, Watson, we wait. And when we’ve drunk enough, I shall stumble drunkenly about, until I find a certain item of some importance. You of course, being only moderately tipsy, will apologize profusely to any patrons I stumble into, and assist me in leaving.”

  
“And we do have to actually drink it?” I asked, pointedly swirling my glass.

  
“Naturally, Watson,” Holmes said with a sip from his own beer. “Authenticity is key.”

  
I sighed deeply, while staring glumly at my nearly full glass of beer.


	29. Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 - From KnightFury: Coughs, sneezes and a very weary doctor.  
> 100 word drabble

It happened most winters, Holmes observed, when the coughing and sneezing increased in the general population, and Watson would go entire weeks without once visiting Baker’s Street. When the good doctor finally did make an appearance, he was notably tired, dark circles under his eyes, footsteps dragging on the floor, and his hand futility hiding a yawn.

“You’ll run yourself down again, Watson,” he observed, offering his friend a cup of tea.

“As if you’re one to talk,” Watson muttered, gratefully accepting the tea and collapsing into an armchair.

Holmes laughed. “Indeed, we are very similar in our drive, Watson.”


	30. Kittens (Batman: Gotham by Gaslight Crossover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 30 - From sirensbane: Kittens

Having children underfoot when Bruce Wayne visited was tolerated by Holmes, especially since the youngest, Tim continued to show an aptitude for chemistry, so much so, that he had added two new scorch marks on Mrs Hudson’s wallpaper. Jason enjoyed quietly reading books, and Dick tried to help solve cases with Bruce. Children, to some extent could be reasoned with.

  
Having kittens underfoot was another matter entirely. They were often literally underfoot, yowling pitifully then skittering off to hide under the furniture hissing if they managed to get caught up under one’s feet. Mrs Hudson had found them near the doorstep one morning; three mismatched abandoned mewling kittens. She’d brought them inside ‘long enough to feed them, and only until proper homes could be found for them’. There was an orange one named Ginger, a brown tabby named Nutmeg, and a calico named Cinnamon. Mrs Hudson insisted that the names did not mean the cats were here to stay. The kittens seemed to know she was in charge, as they avoided clawing up any of her possessions, opting instead to chew and claw everything in Holmes’ rooms.

Nutmeg seemed particularly fond of clawing a hole in my favorite armchair. I sighed as I brushed the kitten aside to sit down one evening. “I’m beginning to give up hope that Mrs Hudson will find homes for the kittens,” I said.  
Holmes let out a short laugh and puffed on his pipe. “Indeed. The kitten have become quite attached to her. However, they are quite fond of the children as well.” Holmes paused for a moment, calmly enjoying his pipe. “Perhaps the Waynes could be persuaded to take the kittens back home with them.

“It would be a lot quieter around here,” I remarked.

“Indeed,” Holmes agreed. “The bees are sufficient company in one’s lodging.”

\--  
“Can we keep them?” Jason asked Bruce, holding up Nutmeg.

  
Bruce frowned. “We already have 15 cats at the manor. I don’t think we need any more.”

  
Selina slipped her arm into Bruce’s. “Nonsense darling, there’s no such thing as too many cats,” she purred.


	31. Baker Street Bees:  Resolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 31 - From sirensbane: New Year's resolutions  
> 221B ficlet

It was late as I trudged up the steps to 221B on New Year’s Eve. The room was lit with only one lamp casting long shadows, and Holmes played a sedate tune on his violin in the semi-dark. I sat down quietly in an armchair as the bees hummed contentedly from their place near the window. I wondered for a few moments if the insects had grown to recognize Holmes’ playing.

After finishing his piece, Holmes set down his violin, disappeared into the kitchen to reappear a moment later with two glasses of whiskey. I nodded my thanks as he set one by my side and moved to stand by the window.

“Mary was asking about New Years resolutions for tomorrow,” I said, picking up my glass. “I suppose mine will be to spend what time I can on cases. Aside from my patients and Mary of course.” It was a delicate balance when one had so many important activities, though I suppose having too many activities to chose from was preferable to having none.

Holmes turned to give me a brief smile. “How characteristic and thoughtful of you, Watson,” he said.

“Do you have any resolutions for the new year?” I asked.

  
Holmes smiled as he took another sip of his whiskey. “Why of course, Watson. To keep more bees.”


End file.
